


Bend Over Boyfriend

by inquisitioned



Category: Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Genderbend, he's not a prostitute despite the summary, if you couldn't tell by the title, micaela tops everyone, sorry Manuel (not actually sorry), the first part is true though, this is porn just so you know, what do you call this femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitioned/pseuds/inquisitioned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Manuel wants to make the line very clear; there is a great big difference between working for a sex line for extra money and being a prostitute. He's not very good at either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bend Over Boyfriend

Manuel started contemplating the decisions he made in his life when he was staring Micaela Prado down in her doorway, trying to decide between looking at her face, the magnetic draw of her breasts, or perhaps the most strange thing on her, a black harness with something pink, sparkly, and phallic in the center of it. 

This was supposed to have been their first meeting. To say the circumstances were simple would be completely ridiculous, as the first time Manuel had found himself nearly bewitched by Micaela was at his job.

—

It was a chilly winter evening when Manuel received a late night phone call from Her. The office building where his business of not exactly choice—rather, of very poor circumstances, a nice sounding voice and the term “You sound like the feisty type, they’ll love you” —had leaky windows, and the wind was starting to seep into his bones. He’d spent the entire day taking phone calls from disgusting perverts asking him to do equally disgusting things, and if it wasn’t for the pitiful rumble of his stomach and the large pile of overly expensive textbooks in his dorm room, he wouldn’t have done it. And even now, there was only one thing that kept him there—and her name was Micaela Prado, an accidental call on that frozen winter night.

Her misconceptions over the phone number (“Hi, I’d like a large cheese pizza with extra peppers on the side, please!”) and his own confusion, (“Yes ma’am, but I don’t…uh, know how you’ll pay.”) had led to the makings of what seemed to be some sort of friendship. Micaela called him twice a week and they talked about everything from sex to his homework to her job as a personal chef, and before long, they’d exchanged phone numbers that didn’t charge by the minute and set up a date to meet together in person. 

In a way, it should have been embarrassing, and it was. Micaela tended to come up with ridiculous fantasies when they did speak about sex, and Manuel had shrugged them off with a snide comment and the relief of being able to hide his red face by the other side of the phone. But Manuel had always assumed she was joking, and apparently, that was his first mistake.  
Because now, here she was. Completely naked, as ridiculously beautiful as he thought she would have been, and clearly ready to prove she’d never been joking. Manuel’s intelligent response to her hello was a slackjawed stare. “What is that.”

 

“Oh, this? Señor Sparkles.” There was a mischievous lilt to Micaela’s smile, and Manuel felt his stomach twist up like a piece of twine as she grabbed his hand and brought him inside. The Chilean squawked and shut the door behind her, his face bright red, and tried to look everywhere but down. 

“Y-you—you can’t just show up to the door like that, what the fuck’s wrong with you?!” 

“And you forgot my pizza, so who’s really at fault here, huh?” Micaela grinned at him and turned around, grabbing his hand in hers as she started to lead him through her front room, practically whistling. “So—”

“I don’t work for a pizza company!” Manuel responded, the exasperation that should have been in his voice replaced by a strangled squeak as he managed to glance down and get an eyeful of the way the harness framed her butt, “And what if someone walked up or something?!”

“Someone did! It was you. Stop being such a spoilsport—”

“Where are we even going?!”

“To my room!” 

“Augh—would you wait a second?” Finally catching her wrist, Manuel stopped at the foot of the stairs, digging his heels into the carpet and stopping the eager girl from dragging him behind. In all honesty, he shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but at the same time… “…You’re actually serious about that?”

“Duh! You know, you really suck at your job.” The Peruvian girl laughed, turning around and putting her hand on her hip, and Manuel spluttered, returning his very firm gaze to her eyes.

“I’m not a prostitute!” 

There was a brief second of silence before Micaela turned back around—she leaned forward and pressed her finger to his lips, and winked a single golden eye at him. “I’m not asking you to be. Am I.”

The blood rushed from Manuel’s face down to below his belt, and for a moment, he felt himself growing dizzy. Micaela had simply giggled and reached for his cheeks, then pulled him in for a kiss; for once in his life, the wordy Chilean was completely struck speechless, and he was nearly grateful for Micaela’s spontaneity. Her mouth was warm and soft, and Manuel reached out and grabbed her around the waist, body moving out of its own will—he’d been writing poetry about kissing the girl on the other side of the phone for a week now, and it wasn’t quite as right as the real thing. Before he could get too far lost, Micaela broke away, just an inch or two, and murmured, “We can talk later. You coming upstairs, or not?”

He couldn’t have denied her if he tried, and Manuel hurriedly followed Micaela up the stairs, down the hall, and was promptly dragged into her room by the front of his t-shirt. Micaela turned with his shirt still in her grasp and leaned forward, capturing his mouth in another messy, hot kiss with no sign of hesitation; she was no coquettish wallflower, and it was something Manuel not-so-secretly adored about her. His hands found her waist and Micaela slid her tongue into his mouth like a seasoned pro, starting to walk him backward. It was disturbingly obvious to feel that thing rubbing against his leg as she pressed up against him, but maybe what was more disturbing was the fact that it was a god-damn turn on. 

Manuel’s back hit the sheets before he registered it, and Micaela had crawled over him, barely disconnecting from the kiss as she straddled his waist, the bare curve of her behind rubbing against the growing bulge in his pants hard enough to send his toes curling. For just a blissful moment, the thought of shame was lost on him, and Manuel rocked his hips up against Micaela’s, his mind completely focused on the soft noises coming from the woman in front of him and the way she was battling him for dominance of the sloppy, wet kiss—he could feel a pleasant heat already burning in his groin, and he was only startled from his trance at the feeling of his hand being lifted and pressed against Micaela’s breast. 

Micaela said something against his lips that he missed,almost indignant sounding, and arched her back forward into his hands, rewarding the sudden twitch of his fingers with a warm, pleased moan. Manuel responded with a noise of his own that was a little more pathetic than it should have been, but the embarrassed flush that rode high into his cheeks was quickly matched by the fervered moving of his hands, rubbing pressure into the tan skin and brushing circles against sensitive nubs of skin. Micaela chuckled—of course she chuckled—and pulled away from the kiss, murmuring lowly as she started to trail her mouth down his throat. “You are so cute.”

“Bite me—” And, like clockwork, she did, pressing her teeth above his adam’s apple and sucking down on the pale skin—Manuel tossed his head back and gritted his teeth, feeling his toes curl involuntarily and his hands tighten on her chest. Miceala smiled against the column of his throat and pulled away, tearing his t-shirt off and pressing her bare skin to his chest for just a minute, eyes closing and hips sliding backwards, slow and sure and enough to make Manuel’s eyes roll back in his head. Before he could properly enjoy the feeling of Micaela’s breasts pressed to his torso, she pulled away and sat between his legs, suddenly yanking his pants down to his ankles and exposing him to the air. 

“You’re bigger than I thought! Come on, turn over—” 

“Wait—wh-!”

With a laugh, the Peruvian girl curled over Manuel, tilting her head to the side over his jaw and drawing his earlobe between her teeth. He barely had time to protest, and the swear that was on his tongue died the moment she spoke, voice smoky and warm against his ear, and the vague sensation of his earlobe being tugged by a pair of teeth sent a heated shiver down his spine. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

That, combined with the hand that drifted down his thigh and wrapped around his erection without any sort of warning, made Manuel’s ever busy thoughts completely drain out of his ear—when Micaela asked him to turn over, he did. Lazily, she pumped her hand across him, reaching with her other hand to uncork a bottle of lubricant resting on the table, squirting enough into her palm and letting go for a moment, running the hand on his length underneath his balls and up to his entrance, stroking it lightly. Leaning forward into the pillows under his cheek, Manuel groaned, his hands splaying out in the sheets and clutching tight. The muscles in his shoulders twitched and rippled with every press of her fingers, every thrust and stretch, and Manuel started to push up into the motion of her fingers, biting his lip as she took her sweet time, stroking his inner walls and sending him to putty. 

“Have you done this before?” Came Micaela’s question, sweet and prying at the same time—she’d pulled her slick fingers away and trailed one up the curve of his butt to his back, the wet liquid like wildfire against his skin.

Manuel felt himself redden and spoke into the pillow, his groaning muffled. “Can we ta—talk about that later?”

“Is it?” Her only answer was an embarrassed silence from Manuel, who stubbornly shut his mouth and refused to give a proper answer—Micaela sat back on her heels and rubbed the plastic with her still slick hands, and her face fell into a grin. “Oh, it is. Well, good!”

Whatever she said after that was lost on Manuel, because he could feel the press now, could feel her rubbing against his entrance, and Micaela chattered until she’d gotten a hold of his hips, and started to slide in, cutting off the last sentence with a pleased hiss and a squeeze of her hands. The Chilean gripped at the sheets under his hands and felt his toes curl, sucking in a breath as he felt Micaela lean back over him, her mouth pressed against his neck, murmuring something as she held perfectly still—it wasn’t until he hissed, “Go, go, chucha—” that she broke into a grin and thrust her hips forward. 

All things considered, he could have been embarrassed, he could have been upset, but from his position—hips rocking back and forth, Micaela moaning behind him, the slick connection of her body against his—nothing was bad. She leaned over his shoulders and pressed her mouth against his cheek and he turned his head the sloppy two inches to steal a kiss, starting to hear the creak of the mattress under their ministrations, and Manuel groaned into her mouth as Micaela suddenly pressed upwards, doing something that made him see stars. Underneath them, he splayed a hand down his stomach and rubbed his palm over the tip of his length in messy rhythm with each of Micaela’s thrusts; she hit that spot again and squeezed the sensitive bones of his hips and whispered something against his mouth. “My name, my name—”

The command made his toes curls and he felt that raising heat suddenly reach a boiling point—there was a sharp gasp, the low hiss of her name once, twice, three times—and he felt himself release messily into his hand, arching his back against her and screwing his eyes shut tight. Micaela pushed forward a couple times more and kissed at his neck, and as her hips slowed, he pressed himself to the covers, slowly, unwilling to move as the heat in his stomach spread to the rest of his limbs, making them tremble as he felt his cheek brush the silk on her pillowcase.

In a few hours, when he’d properly come to terms with what had just happened, Manuel could shamefully file this away in his memories as one of the best fucks he’d ever had. For the moment, he was a little preoccupied with two things—one, his own, current shade of mortification, and two, Micaela, who had fallen asleep on his back.


End file.
